“It’s your fault.” The voice cut through the crisp autumn air as a surgeon’s scalpel.
Grace wondered if she could just pretend that she hadn’t heard anything and leave. But people were swarming around the little church, now that the deceased had been driven away, and the last thing that Grace wanted was a scene.
“Nicole,” she said before turning around and facing her accuser.
“If it hadn’t been for you he’d still be alive.”